


The International Portkey Terminal

by bigblackdog



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, alternate universe wizarding world, hope lupin will save our souls, invisible cities trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 01:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11094495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblackdog/pseuds/bigblackdog
Summary: Written for the introvert-club's "Ode to Strangers" promptRemus Lupin is working as a Portkey Retrieval Specialist, wading through monotony and wasted potential until a stranger provides the perfect antidote to the drudgery.





	The International Portkey Terminal

**Author's Note:**

> this is my very first completed one-shot. i'm pretty thrilled it hasn't joined the overlarge file of unfinished writing projects. many thanks to the introvert-club on tumblr for providing the prompt.

The International Portkey Terminal is on the twenty sixth floor of the Ministry of Magic and is the kind of barren office so drab prolonged exposure feels like entry into an alternate reality. Long ago, someone must have tacked the posters to the wall featuring exotic locations and happy smiling travelers. But it must have been very long ago indeed, because the animation potion is wearing off now and one sun burned family faces the unfortunate fate of erratically twitching in front of the pyramids forever. The posters are supplemented by a gray pockmarked ceiling and gray formica floors and a gnarled stump of a former plant that Remus' elderly coworker Rhonda insists only blooms every 37 years and did Remus really want to be responsible for killing so rare a plant? Remus didn't, never even suggested they remove the plant, was only curious about the origins of the extremely dead plant. And anyway, it was much better than the twitching family in Egypt, the little girl especially.

Remus has managed to hold down a job as a Portkey Retrieval Specialist for much longer than he'd originally anticipated. Despite the clearly decrepit furnishings, the terminal is briskly busy through both day and night, and the need for semi-competent help at all hours contributes to Remus' continued employment. The other contributing factor is that, despite the fancy title, Remus is basically picking up garbage and that is exactly the kind of job the Ministry is willing to give a werewolf.

It's fairly absurd to travel forth, extinguishing two portkeys, one there, one back, ten minutes apart, to collect other spent portkeys. That Portkey Retrieval Specialists exist at all is the fault of one footnote to a sub-clause written by an eccentric and stubborn Italian diplomat who had gotten sick of the trash deposited by his favorite smoking spot. That diplomat enacted a no-littering stipulation in a lengthy treaty detailing the rights and restrictions of magical travelers. So lengthy, Remus suspects no one read through it to catch the no-littering stipulation. Remus doesn't particularly love his job, but he loves that Italian diplomat and the entrenched depths of bureaucracy that created his ridiculous, redundant job.

Because of that footnote and that Italian diplomat, Remus spends his days and sometimes nights working his way round a list of hidden international locations, traveling in ten minute intervals to collect punctured balls, smashed paper cups, cracked hand mirrors, dirty shoes, and once, a ripped dust jacket for a cookbook exclusively about haggis.

At first, Remus took careful note of all the refuse, cataloguing the rotation of dirty cue-tips and broken wristwatches. It added a layer of interest to an otherwise mindless task, and he felt a bit of a caretaker. A caretaker of wizarding refuse. But as time went on and the connection strengthened between the contents of the trashcan and the rejects of wizarding society, Remus vowed to himself to stop over identifying with dirty orange peels.

Now he tries to pay attention to people, tells himself to over identify with the strangers who flurry in and out of the office and hopes it'll stick. He likes the tall Spanish woman with the tailored black sheath, and her friend with the smart blonde bob and the pinstriped robes. He used to like the reedy man with the bushy gray mustache, but now he studiously avoids eye contact. He's particularly enamored with the beautiful Gringotts cursebreaker with the dreads and the lip ring; once she even smiled at him with that lip ring before disappearing in a swirl of dragonhide cloak.

Day and night, Remus collects garbage and strangers with sure swift hands and furtive swift eyes.

**

Remus gets swirled and sucked backed into the gray reality that is the International Portkey Terminal and promptly falls hard on his ass. He falls hard on his ass a lot, and that often results in having to recollect the spent portkeys he's collected. A long night of revisiting to recollect redundant portkeys stretches before him. As remus reaches for the rescattered debris, another hand meets his, picking up an empty tube of chapstick and offering it up.

"Here you go mate."

Remus takes the chapstick tube from the man, and takes in his dark elbow length hair, his leather jacket, the easy smile and gray eyes. Such a very different gray from gray formica floors; not the receding and detached gray of an office that ushers people out, but a promising gray that says stay, we'll make something here. That twinkling gray shifts away as the man rejoins his companion in line. Remus collects the companion too, notes the gangly frame and wild black hair, the dark arm slung around Gray Eyes' shoulders and the easy way they speak softly, heads bent together. Remus feels wistful and jealous looking at them, these beautiful strangers and their intimacy, probably off to some Mediterranean beach that will bring out the freckles on Gray Eyes' tan skin.

**

Remus sidles around the line in the terminal, waves hello to Rhonda and collects his list. The same list he always has because some more important person in an office decidedly elsewhere, probably full of living plants, doesn't think Portkey Retrieval Specialists are capable of adjusting to slight changes in schedule. So Remus sees the same 24 foreign destinations in Western Europe twice every shift. A lot of them are out of the way alleys and Remus gets the distinct pleasure of sightseeing the garbage dumpsters of Vienna, the stray cats of Berlin, the graffitied concrete of Hamburg. This, Remus thinks, is sightseeing like a local, really getting a feel for a place.

He's armed today with a muggle plastic shopping bag, courtesy his mother, that's been spelled unbreakable and larger on the inside, courtesy Remus. He was dismally frustrated with himself for not thinking sooner to bring a spelled bag along to prevent the inevitable recollecting when he inevitably falls on his ass. The oversight is surely a sign that the mindlessness of this job is scrambling his brain.

He portkeys through the list, collecting all the usual leftovers. a smashed pack of cigarettes in Paris, a dented tin cup in Milan, a busted picture frame in Brussels. He portkeys back to the International Portkey Terminal, clutching his bag tightly through the swirling chaos. And falls hard on his ass.

Before he can grumble there's a hand reaching out to him, a hand emerging from a leather jacket. Remus looks up into those gray eyes again, christ but he's beautiful.

"Here mate," the stranger hauls Remus to his feet, holds his hand with warmth.

"Thanks," Remus says, unable to help the wide smile stretching across his face. "Happens every damn time."

"Me too mate," the stranger laughs. "If I had to portkey as much as you I'm sure I'd puke."

"Well I did at first," Remus blurts, then grimaces. "Sorry." But the stranger just huffs out a small laugh.

"Alright then?" the stranger asks, bringing his other hand to Remus' shoulder, clasping both hand and shoulder briefly before letting go. "Alright," he says again and strolls over to the same companion Remus saw him with last. The wild haired man leans closer to dig an elbow into that leather jacketed side. Gray Eyes shoves back with his shoulder, laughing.

He takes his allotted 30 minute break, sitting in one of the gray plastic chairs that has the fewest mysterious stains and watches the line of people ebb and flow. Gray Eyes and Wild Hair take a portkey to Geneva and Remus wonders what two scruffy wizards, one in rebellious clothes, rebellious muggle clothes at that, are doing in the tidy diplomatic city of Geneva.

As Remus crumbles up his sandwich wrapper he wonders if it will ever become a portkey. Will the trash he produces become the trash he collects? How do they choose portkeys anyway?

He makes the rounds again.

***

"I'm home," Remus calls out.

"Hi sweetie," Remus' mum calls from the kitchen. "How was work?"

Remus wanders into the kitchen to shrug at her. She reaches up to touch Remus' hair, "I know love," she coos. And it's enough. "What do you want for dinner?"

"Can you make me a cheese toastie?"

"Poof," she says, tapping him on the nose, "you're a cheese toastie."

Poof, Remus' muggle mother has temporarily banished the drudgery of being a werewolf in wizarding society.

***

Remus has started to accio the portkeys to himself. It took a few tries to get the phrasing right (the portkeys did not respond well to being called trash), but he's got it now. The little bits and bobs coming flying toward his bag, leaving Remus ten minutes to take in the scenery. He can't venture out of the alleyways, the only insurance he won't lose his job if accidentally spotted portkeying in and out is standing at the designated portkey stop. So he stands at the stop, looking.

He spends a week like this before the monotony of standing there threatens to consume him completely. On a Friday night, he goes back to picking up the refuse with his hands. There's somehow more dignity in this method, both for him and the trash.

In Geneva, when he falls on his ass, his hand lands on a book. Invisible Cities. Despite a white cover smudged with dirt and no less than three bright yellow USED stickers, it's in too good condition to be a portkey. Remus flips through it to check it's got all its pages, isn't defaced, and while flipping, a slip of parchment floats out.

_Dear Portkey Retrieval Specialist,_

_This book made me think of you._

_\- S.B._

For the rest of his rounds, those short phrases rotate round his mind. Dear Portkey Retrieval Specialist. Made me think of you. S.B.

***

Remus keeps the book tucked in the inner pocket of his robe and brings it along to each portkey stop. Each little essay is the perfect length for a ten minute interlude in a foreign place. So perfect, that Remus pities the people who cannot read Invisible Cities hopping from city to city every ten minutes.

He's actually always wanted to read Invisible Cities and now that he finally is, he feels like he's quietly blooming. The book is full of familiarity and strangeness, treasures and trash, deep ideas. Remus drifts in and out of those depths, but never feels like he's been made to swim through deep water until he's too tired. In Hamburg, he travels to Zora, in Brussels he travels to Despina, in Paris he travels to Isaura. He retells himself the story of his job: he is Marco Polo, exploring the world and reality of his own perceptions, looking beyond the golden twinkling orbs to see the not so invisible ramshackle of cities.

On his breaks he thumbs the pages and thinks of the stranger who gifted him this new reality.

 

***

Tonight is two nights after the full moon and though Remus started his shift feeling fully recovered, each hard landing on his ass tonight is rattling his teeth and making the place behind his eyes throb. Not to mention the usual throbbing in his ass. He's tried bracing himself, and bending his knees, he's tried falling forward, he's tried not thinking about it so hard and letting his subconscious take over. Apparently his subconscious wants him to fall hard on his ass because that's all that's happened.

Remus portkeys to Geneva... and doesn't fall on his ass. There's a quick moment of confusion before he realizes someone is standing behind him behind him, gripping his arms -- "Buggering fuck!" Remus shouts as he spins around, backing away, "Holy shitting fuckballs!"

"Sorry! Sorry! Didn't mean to startle you." It's dark but Remus can see the stranger put up their hands in a placating gesture.

"Jesus fucking christ." Remus crouches to put his hands on his knees, his heart is beating fast.

The stranger chuckles, "Sorry," he says again, "really didn't mean to."

The stranger lights his wand and Remus looks up to see a familiar leather jacket and gray eyes. A laugh bubbles up out of Remus fueled by thwarted adrenaline and the absurdity of it being him in this alleyway in fucking Geneva. They stand together giggling.

When Remus finally catches his breath he says, "Hi."

"Hi," he says back, then, "Sirius Black," holding out a hand.

Remus takes his hand, mind buzzing. If he hadn't read Invisible Cities three times so far and stuck that note to the inside of the back cover he might have missed it. But he _did_ read it three times and tape that note in and besides that he's had it memorized since he first read it. And he found the book in Geneva, and here they both are in Geneva. And god, as if he wasn't already half in love with S.B., it turns out he's the stranger with the beautiful gray eyes and the boyfriend. Fuck.

 

"Sirius Black?"

Sirius Black smiles. "Yes. And you are?"

"Remus." he says, still gripping Sirius Black's hand. "Lupin." he adds belatedly, letting go.

"Remus Lupin."

"Were you..." Remus fiddles with the sleeve of his robe and tries again. "Were you waiting? For me?"

Sirius nods.

"I hope not long?" Remus wonders.

"No I asked the office when you'd be by. Said I'd left a book behind, wondered if you'd seen it." Sirius grins and Remus is impressed with the clever half-truth of his words, before it hits him.

And even though Remus knew it had to have been him, the confirmation is so satisfying. _It was him!_  he chants internally.

Remus pulls the book from the inner pocket in his robe and holds it to his chest. He's daydreamed a million things to say to S.B., mostly assuming they were a kindly older English professor with frizzy curls and a purple shawl. Remus reaches for the sincerity always simmering below his surface and condenses it, gives away as much as he can to Sirius, who gave him whole invisible worlds. "I hoped I'd meet you. To say thank you."

Sirius beams, effusive, bouncing on his feet. "Yea? You liked it?"

"Yea I liked it!" Remus wants to continue, to tell Sirius how the book has kept him afloat in the swirling, sucking vortex of monotony that is this job, but he's all too aware that the swirling, sucking vortex will claim him again in something like five minutes. "I don't have very long," he says instead.

"I'm sorry about that-- about showing up while you're working. James said it was a good idea, but that usually means it isn't. Didn't know how else to do it though."

"No, no! It's fine. I'm glad you did."

"Yea?" Sirius asks, suddenly all shy smiles.

"Yea, of course. But don't let me keep you from your boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?"

"The guy with the--" Remus mimes crazy hair with fingers around his head and Sirius lets out a bark like laugh.

"James?! No! James is just a friend. My best mate, but yea, that's him... you remember us?"

Sirius looks delighted at the thought and he doesn't have a boyfriend so Remus doesn't lie.

"Yea I remember you."

***

Suddenly Remus Lupin loves his job and it has everything to do with Sirius waiting in the alley every Friday night, indulgent and sweet. Sirius is unguarded with his attentions-- quick to check when he can meet Remus again, in the alleyway in Geneva or the London International Portkey Terminal for Remus' lunch break. Remus has learned that Sirius and James travel on weekends to Geneva to visit people Sirius sometimes calls mum and dad and sometimes Mrs. and Mr. Potter. Remus found out Mrs. Potter-mum is a diplomat and negotiating more lenient penalties for low level infractions of the International Statue of Secrecy; and while they were on the subject Sirius relayed some other liberal political stances with an enraged passion that made Remus want to suck him off in the alley.

Though brief, their meetings are no less pithy for it. It's not just that Sirius' vehement, aggressive moral outrage overlaps with Remus' own, he also has a talent for conversing that Remus revels in. Remus might otherwise be content to sun himself in the brightness that is sexy Sirius in his alleyway, but Sirius forges ahead: asking about Remus' favorite invisible city, a book he'd recommend to Sirius, Remus' history as a Portkey Retrieval Specialist. Remus wouldn't describe himself as reticent, but it's still ridiculous how Sirius so effortlessly draws deep answers from Remus' well. Remus feels as if Sirius is asking the questions he's always wanted to answer. One time, while meeting at the office during Remus' lunch break, he tried to write internal notes, memorize the flow of conversation, so that he could parrot those questions back to Sirius. He'd walked away glowing and empty, deciding that Sirius is fucking charming and Remus has no hope of ever being that charming, but somehow it doesn't seem to matter because Sirius keeps coming to visit.

***

"What's all this about then?" Remus' mum says, hand on her hips in the kitchen (perpetually standing in the kitchen, she is).

"What?" Remus asks, affecting nonchalance.

"Oh don't try to play coy with me. I know better Remus John Lupin." She gestures to Remus' black painted nails, the buttons and pins on his best fitting robe. "No one paints their nails to pick up garbage."

Remus huffs. "Fine. There's a boy."

"I knew it," she says, taking a sip of tea triumphantly.

"Then why'd you ask?" he grumbles.

She ignores him, smiles widely. "Someone from work?"

"Sort of."

"Oh fine, don't tell me. By the looks of your smile these days I'll meet him soon enough."

And Remus has been smiling more, a fucking goofy smile, but he's not sure his mum will ever meet Sirius. For all Sirius' open interest, and what must be some champion schedule rearranging, Sirius hasn't asked for more than ten minute alleyway visits. Remus is more than a little confused.

**

Remus collects the same list from Rhonda, collects the same trash, collects the same dismal snapshots of cities, and wonders how he can collect Sirius. He wants him outside of a dead end concrete alleyway, he wants to talk to Sirius about books and politics with a view of something other than that bizarrely twisted stump of a dead plant. He wants Sirius to meet his mum. He wants Sirius to meet his bed.

Somewhere around Paris, Remus makes a decision. He spends the stops in Brussels, Amsterdam, and Hamburg congratulating himself on this decision, talking himself into it again and again. And when he lands in Geneva and two gentle hands prop him up from behind, he doesn't hesitate.

Instead of getting his balance and taking a few steps away with muttered thanks like usual, Remus stays right where he is, simply turns around to face a surprised Sirius Black. He takes two tiny steps forward, wanting to make his intentions abundantly clear and places his hands on Sirius chest. He rests his fingertips gently against the thin white cloth of Sirius' tee shirt and looks up into those gray eyes, making sure. Sirius is blushing, but holding Remus' gaze.

Remus grips Sirius' shirt and hauls him down, throwing his arms around Sirius' neck and pressing himself up into him for an insistent kiss.

Sirius pulls away from Remus' lips to kiss down his neck, drawing his hands slowly up Remus' back at the same time.

"Fucking finally," Sirius mutters into his neck.

"You?! Fucking finally?! You can't! You can't even imagine! It was so hard Sirius, so hard," Remus hardly knows what he's saying, only knows that Sirius' hair is as silky as it looks, that the feel of it between his fingers is soothing.

"Mm hmm," Sirius agrees, and kisses him again on the lips.

It's easily the best snog Remus has ever had, and he once drunkenly snogged the front man of The Grimy Imps. But Sirius is smarter and lovelier and more attentive, so generously attentive.

They kiss and kiss until Remus remembers he's at his job, and within the circle of Sirius arms, pulls the next portkey out of his pocket. He tries to peck Sirius goodbye, but gets sucked into another long kiss. He tries again, tenderly kisses Sirius and steps back. Remus knows from months of ten minute intervals that it's coming. The portkey will take him to Berlin next, but he's made his point, and maybe next time they can pick up from here.

Remus holds on tight to the portkey and takes in Sirius: hair pulled out of his disheveled ponytail, wrinkled shirt, sweet happy smile and feels overwhelmingly accomplished. For all his wasted hours picking up garbage, he's somehow picked up Sirius Black and it hardly seems a waste at all now.

Sated as he is, Remus is doubly surprised when Sirius lunges forward to take hold of his hand, the hand holding the portkey, but he only has a moment to register that surprise before they're both sucked into the ether and roughly deposited in Berlin. They land heavily, automatically reaching for each other to stay upright.

Remus stares at Sirius a moment, shocked he's here, shocked he's standing, before a laugh bubbles up out of him. They're laughing so hard they have to grip onto to one another. Sirius eventually stands up straight and makes a show of wiping his eyes.

Remus slides his hands under Sirius' leather jacket and around his waist, still laughing. "Fucking hell. How're you gonna get home?"

Sirius grins slyly, "I guess I'll just have to go with you."

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading! 
> 
> i'm thinking of a second chapter, starting with remus and sirius arriving back at the international portkey terminal and surprising the shit out of rhonda. but i kind of want to bask in completing something for a while before it becomes another wip.


End file.
